Shadow
by Peachy Garlic
Summary: Alex of Tirragen is stronger than Alanna thought he was. And when he bargains with the Black God for his life, he has to do everything in his power to save his own life and get his revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Living in the Shadow**

**by Peachy Garlic**

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the characters or settings named, described, or used in this fanfiction. These characters and settings are the property of Tamora Pierce. The plot is mine.

#&%&#

_I'm here to wear you out_

_I'm here to watch you hide_

_Nothing to figure out_

_I'm here to watch you die_

_Running away from the breast of_

_Your busy giant healing machine…_

_Nobody left in line_

_No one to make you shine_

_Hanging on to the backs of opinions_

_You're borrowed and betrayed…_

_I'm here to break you down_

_I'm here to bury time_

_Nothing to talk about_

_Nothing to change my mind…_

_--Our Lady Peace_

#&%&#


	2. Chapter 2

#&%&# Chapter 2 #&%&#

A mouse crept by, its tiny feet padding softly on the hewn stone floor. It snuffled about, eager for sign of food. The stench of death and rotting flesh had lured it down from the spotless kitchens above, in hope of a scrap, salvation from starvation. Even a mouse would turn carnivore to escape from one of the most dangerous Sorrows. Its will was small, yet held on savagely to life with every scrap of intelligence in it.

Alexander of Tirragen watched the mouse, calculation heavy in his dark eyes.

His body was broken and bleeding, with breaks, sprains, cuts, slashes, his heart nearly pierced by a blade. For three days the young man had lay, his prone, twisted form still on the cold stone. The world was cold, so cold. He had slipped in and out of life, meandering through the Middle Realm, not leaving nor staying, always wandering, wandering. The Black God had not come to him, but had walked, observing him from a distance, as though a glass wall separated them. His mind fled from the nightmares of the past he had relived, the battles he had seen. The dreams he lived were in a tomb, all icy and cold with no warmth, no light, only darkness. He went through dying many times, experiencing the horrific rush as his own blood, still warm, spilled out of his dry, cracked lips.

_He turned over and vomited, his thick copper blood riddled with tissue. His eyes widened in both pain and surprise as Alanna seized her blade and tugged viciously, the cold metal just missing his black heart. He was of course in agony from the wounds all over his body, but some part of him seemed still to be shocked, shocked that it was _she_ who had killed him. He saw a trace of a smirk in her eyes, beyond the fire of battle, beyond the world. Rancid bile dribbled down his lips, rejected by his body. Both liquids poured from his throat. He put his hand to his shoulder to find blood, thick and red, blood pooling onto the floor beside him. He fell forward, his legs slashed, running small rivulets of blood between the cracks in the mortar of the floor. The metallic taste filled his mouth. He would surely die of blood loss. His eyes glazed over. He was dead._

But even the greatest minds will find themselves mistaken at some point.

So it was with Alex.

There he lay, still clinging desperately on to every small ounce of life he possessed. For three days his system healed itself. He did not know how it had happened. He did not know why the Black God had let him go. _Some die that should have lived.._ _Some live that should have died,_ he thought, a sardonic grin passing over his lips before it was replaced with a wince as they cracked and bled again.

His body had had little blood left, but, miraculously, Alex came out of a deep coma. Alive. That was all that mattered to him now. _Alive. _Squinting downward, he watched the creature as it scurried nearer. Slowly, carefully, Alex flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles ominously. His better arm would do well for this task. Alanna the Lioness had been mistaken when she had thought she had beaten the Tirragen knight. He glared as he thought of her face, a hot anger welling up, blinding his vision with a deep red mist.

The mouse came within reach of Alex's tingling fingers. With a snap, the hand closed over the animal's body, crushing its ribs instantly. It was dead. Alexander stared at the small, furred body, pathetic and bone thin, lying in his white palm, encaged in his long, pale, spidery fingers. It was still warm. The heart, pierced, still pumped fitfully. Alex waited until the faint thump of the heart died away.

He devoured it whole, fur and all like a primitive beast, starved for weeks. Just then, however, he did not care. All that mattered was that he lived and he would stay that way. The Black God should have taken him when he'd had the chance, but he wasn't going to get another, not if Alex had anything to say about it.

After finishing, Alex licked the remaining blood from his lips. Although the bedraggled creature had been skin stretched tightly over a bone frame, it gave him nourishment, encouraging new blood to rush through his veins, filling him with life, and the sensation of reality—one he had not felt for days.

Carefully, he took inventory, testing bones to see which were in working condition. It would take a lot out of him to get out of this place alive. Wincing, he prodded each rib carefully, wondering at the effects of Mithros's work on warriors and their healing. No professional healer could possibly have done better. He didn't dare touch the scab where the sword had pierced, but he inspected it, assuring he could handle the pain until he was out of the palace and in the open air. It was steadily turning black, the skin around it was raised and swollen, a deep sea blue.

Joggling his memory, he found that his knowledge of the castle had been depleted. The hundreds upon hundreds of passageways he had once known were gone. It was always so if he did not keep a refreshed map in his memory. He stood carefully as he recollected a guards' post near to the area he was currently in. Cringing, he curled his neck back and cracked each bone in his spine, careful not to stretch the scab in his chest. Sitting slumped against a rock wall did not do wonders for posture. Smiling resolutely, he crept down the hall, staying in the shadows he was so accustomed to. He would get out…

#&%&#

_Tightly hold your hand_

_Take a deep breath_

_Give them the finger_

_Are you worried that your thoughts are not quite clear?_

_Twitch_

_Overlooked_

_Unfit appearance…_

_Well I remember falling_

_I remember marching_

_Like a One Man Army_

_Through the blaze_

_I remember coughing_

_I believe in something_

_But I don't want to remember falling_

_For their lies…_

#&%&#

A/N: The bold and italics is from "One Man Army" by Our Lady Peace.


	3. Chapter 3

#&%&# Chapter 3 #&%&#

Alex twirled the sharp skinning knife in his nimble fingers. The room was dimly lit through a small fire, popping and hissing in the corner, creating deep, flickering shadows in the room. His eyes were bright as they caught the reflection of the blade. Slouching in his armchair, he momentarily closed his eyes and relived the dream he had had last night.

The Black God stood before him. The god's black robes swirled around him, billowing in an intangible wind. Alex felt himself tugged further toward death as he beckoned and the sight of Alanna's retreating back faded. He was surrounded by darkness, leaving him alone with the Black God. He shook his head.

_ "You can't take me."_

_ The God reached out a hand and gripped his wrist. He recoiled, his arm feeling cold and numb where the hand was clutched in a death grip, bony fingers locked in a tight shackle. He took a deep breath and let his mind go blank. He didn't have much time-he could feel the warmth of life slipping from his body. Bargaining with the Black God was a very dangerous business, but Alex didn't mind…so long as he got out with the better deal._

_ "I'll bring you someone else in my place."_

He opened his eyes and smiled. Twining his cold fingers around his wine glass, he toasted his genius.

#&%&#

Garbed in the black hood and wear he always sported when he went out, Alex was careful not to attract any attention while inside the Dead Tides. Anyone who noticed him, a presumed dead man, would raise a fearsome alarm. And before he managed to complete his mission he would find himself hanging from the gallows on Traitor's Hill.

The swinging doors closed with a loud clack behind him. He reflected on his near death experience as he stealthily made his way through the evening downpour. Maybe since he had made a deal with him, the Black God had let him go without many injuries. His smashed nose had been gone…so had many others Alanna's blade had inflicted.

Pulling a large blueprint out of his shirt pocket, he traced a finger down it, muttering to himself. "West four, twenty-five, twenty-five…thirty. Six steps to kitchen, serving boy stands at the podium…" He replaced it in his pocket and kept walking, trying to avoid patches of sticky mud.

Stopping before a large wooden building, Alex rummaged in his belt pouch. He came up with a sticky substance that Roger had once given him.

"This is the best thing for climbing vertical faces. It requires a very advanced spell and a long fermentation period. Use it sparingly." He had handed Alex the jar of jet black obsidian and Alex had studied it curiously.

Rubbing it on his fingers, he made sure that his entire palm was covered. He then stuck one hand to the wall and leapt up, reaching his left high and slamming it onto a windowsill. The grains of stone in brick seared his hands and body through the thin, sodden outfit he wore. A light sweat broke upon his forehead as he dragged his body with all his strength, shaking his head like a wet dog to get the falling water out of his eyes and hair as he squinted upward through the rain.

#&%&#

Some five minutes later he was at the top. A whirl of cloak and shadow, he was invisible against the deep, moonless black sky. He skittered across the slippery shingles, trying not to make too much noise. Once he was onto a flat roof next door, he stopped to look around.

The palace was brightly lit in the distance. Alex stretched and took a running leap onto the next roof as the rain reduced to a drizzle and then stopped completely.

#&%&#

It would be trouble, he knew, to get past them that night. They were awake and alert…unlike the guards indoors, who were probably drinking wine and playing a game of dice while others were entertaining the maids. Anyone who tried to get in would be jumped by his guard mates, all four of whom were hidden on either side, above, and behind.

A shadow moved in the trees.

It skirted the road and came to rest directly in his vision. His eyes lost sight of it as the clouds shifted in the sky, uncovering some pinpoints of light. Frantically his eyes peppered the road ahead and bushes along it. Nothing. No movement.

He didn't know how mistaken he was.

A cloaked and hooded man slunk out of the ditch, unnoticed by the man looking in the opposite direction. Slipping a knife between the man's left middle ribs, he stood straight against a pillar. All was quiet. Letting down his guard for an instant, Alex strode confidently through the archway.

The sound of stone grinding on metal made him look up. The portcullis was descending upon his head. Alex slid on his belly and flipped over. His body was, against his hopes, trapped in the bars. Two men leapt out of the bushes. One fell from above and another came from behind to bend down to inspect his face. Alex felt his hood cut off with a ripping noise as the barred gate slammed inches from his face with an earsplitting crash. He was trapped.

"Well, well. What have we here?" The man leant forward to leer at Alex.

The knight didn't waste any time. He lifted his head and bit high on the guard's nose. The person's yelp did not deter him as he held on savagely, tasting the blood of another. He choked on the liquid and let go, sending the man reeling to collapse a few feet away.

Two went for their swords as another went to help his friend.

"The dirty bastard! He's killed Karin!" The man who had checked up on the bitten one rose slowly, pointing an accusing finger. "You killed him! My brother, you've killed! Murderer!" He walked over, sword raised in blind fury.

When he came close enough, Alex kicked out his knees. He fell to the ground with a cry of pain. Feeling the gate being raised, he scrambled upward, wondering why they were freeing him.

Suddenly he knew as the two men walked forward.

"We've decided to let you fight like a man. Take your blade." He pointed to the corpse. Alex, however, reached into his tunic and pulled out the long skinning knife he favored. He wasn't here to use it in the way it was meant for, but they would be more afraid when they saw it.

Alex was pleased to see that the guards' faces whitened when they caught sight of it. He waved it tauntingly.

"Come and get me." He disguised his voice to be a husky, soft whisper. He had no doubt that they had heard, since the nearest one charged straight away.

Undersweep. Alex ducked a hit at the man's groin. He deflected it neatly.

_ Left swing, three, four, Poleaxe. _Whirling into a side roll, he swiped with his left and blocked two aimed hits. He clambered back to his knees.

_ Six, seven, Right Clip._ The man gave a yell as his ear was sheared off. He cradled the stump with one hand and fought with the other, blood spilling everywhere, as Alex gave a sadistic smile. He bit his tongue. This man had had good training for an ordinary guard, and he himself was very out of practice.

_ Nine, Iceberg, eleven, Full Moon._He realized that he was only making excuses for himself as he swerved and chopped downward at the skull. A high block saved the guard, but he was tiring from the one-handed work.

_ Thirteen, Doubloon, chop, swipe… kill. _The guard had suffered long enough. Alex whirled and struck to the hip with a frightfully long stretch of the arm. Before his opponent could try to deflect he had feinted into a chop that opened the leg, maneuvered into a swing at the arms, and whipped the knife upward, between the ridges of the skull.

One down, one to go.

#&%&#

Alex lay by the pillar, wiping off his knife with a handful of grass. After that was done and the blade was sheathed, he lifted his shirt to inspect his own scrapes. He winced as he prodded the bleeding stab that had re-opened again. He also had scrapes on his arm, but those were easily dealt with by nature.

Covering the wound, he walked through the arch and onto the palace grounds.

#&%&#

_ She'd better not recognize me… _he thought as he stripped a corpse of its clothes, leaving the knife there. He would come back for it later. _At least I kept the clothes clean of blood. Care and precision have payoffs. _Shoving on the tunic and breeches, he clipped his knife into the belt pouch and laced up the fancy boots that marked the servant population of the palace.

Picking up the silver service platter, he headed for the indoor kitchens. He entered the swinging doors carefully, almost knocking over a serving maid who had barged out of the door without looking where she was going. After helping her regain her balance, he walked in and began to cough, waving his hand in front of his eyes. The air was full of a thick smoke. Through the screen he saw cooks in white aprons and hats scramble for pots and fill them with water, dousing the fire. Alex tiptoed closer to get a better look. Filching a slice of the burnt venison while the cook was in hysterics, he looked around and spotted the short, fat cellarmaster poised over a barrel of mead.

The man noticed Alex just before he broached the barrel. Smiling, he clapped Alex on the shoulder.

"All these crazy banquets. Never stop, do they?"

"No, sir."

"Which would you like to carry-wine or champagne? Nah, you'll collect empties, all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir. What are you, new?"

"Yes…my lord."

The man sighed.

"Some never learn. Hurry along now, be off with you!"

He clambered onto a stool, and, now the same height as the barrel, tapped it. A river of drink sloshed out and ran in rivulets through the cracks in the stone floor. The venison cook went into more hysterics as Alex carefully backed out through the swinging doors and went down the hall, across from the door he had come through, and entered the dining hall.

The splendor of the dress and decoration was as spectacular as ever, he mused, as he trotted down the steps and into the dancing crowd. He ducked and wove through the dancers, easily out-stepping them. He was out of danger within moments. He then held his tray upright as best he could and proceeded to try to spy out empty wine goblets and champagne flutes on the tables and in hands.

_ This job isn't so bad…_ he thought as he received a smile and a tip from several beautiful ladies. From one blonde he received a cheeky wink, which he reciprocated with a winning smile.

He had to find Alanna and do what he did best. He tried to recall her face in his mind and found it was not quite as easy as he had thought it would be. Screwing his eyes shut and crinkling his nose, he concentrated on the person that would be his murderer, the woman who deserved to die for the things she had done to him. He didn't realize that he was in the middle of the dance floor once again.

Alex felt himself trip over someone else. _Fool! Curses! Why were you walking with your eyes shut?_ He uttered an oath as he felt himself sailing toward the floor.

_Oh great._

Just as he hit the floor, he smacked the ground instinctively as his old armsmaster had taught him when he was a page.

He felt someone grab his hand and, with formidable strength, pull him to his feet.


	4. Chapter 4

The tinkling of a million pieces of glass on the flagstones caused the band to stop their waltz and peer over the sea of heads at Alex. The earth-shattering clang of the enormous tray was followed by a dead silence. He stared stunned at the disastrous mess, then slowly turned his face to the woman who had helped him up. Fiery purple eyes glittered in the candlelight.

"NOW what have you done?" The cellarmaster waddled as fast as his short stumps of legs could take him. "That's at least a hundred flutes gone!"

"Now, now, Frandle, don't get so out of sorts. He looks like a new recruit to me. It was just an accident." She tossed her glossy red locks over her shoulder with a flick of her delicate white hand.

"All right, all right, miss. But on'y 'cause you defended him. You better thank her, boy."

"Th-thank you," Alex stuttered, mesmerized.

Smiling gently, she turned away, the awed crowd parting for her. The five servants who had been discreetly sweeping the shards of glass took the tray and scurried away like frightened mice. The musicians began playing once again and the sea of dancers closed over Alanna's path.

#&&#

_ Her stunning blue silk dress made her almost ethereal, mermaid-like, as though she had stepped out of another world, another time. Her porcelain skin was flawless, smooth. The eyes, the endless, bottomless eyes—he could get lost in those eyes. Hair that was sea-blown, so wild and free, like her spirit._

_ He wanted to destroy it, destroy her. Tear her dress to rags, make her a rag, pull the floor from beneath her. Her spirit would be broken like a wooden doll run under the wheels of a cart, snapped in two. To watch her fall, to fail, to lose everything she held close to her, everything she had ever and would ever love._

_ Alex awoke with a start. A small smile lit his features._

#&&#


End file.
